


Caught Fire

by sweeteunoia



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: ABO, Alpha Wade Wilson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Bottom Peter Parker/Top Wade Wilson, M/M, Omega Peter Parker, Omega Verse, Smut, Spideypool - Freeform, gratuitous descriptions of everyday things, spideypool abo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeteunoia/pseuds/sweeteunoia
Summary: Peter leaves on a train ride to find himself, and ends up losing the person closest to him.





	1. Nostalgia

“Love is friendship that has caught fire.

It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving.

It is loyalty through good and bad times.

It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses.”

-Ann Landers  

 

 

.

 

 

Southern Illinois.

Peter’s lungs are sorely overdue for a return to the thick and humid country air he adores.  

_One more ride away._

_"TAXI!"_ The omega learned a thing or two from the bustling streets of New York, and assertive residents who own them.  It’s a state he’ll certainly miss; memories he’ll think back to  often, with people he’ll never forget. But home?  This place sounds far sweeter now.

He nods to the driver in thanks when they hop out to help Peter with his bags.  This is the southern charm he knows well.

“Waterloo and 2nd, please.”  

.

_This is it..._

Peter listens to his right shoe tap pensively on the concrete.  

For a fleeting moment, he considers turning back.

His foot changes pace, and angle, now alternating between concrete and the tough, coir door mat beneath him.

It’s simple enough.  Heading off to the next state, the next road to who-knows-where. The adventure doesn’t have to end.

 _I do miss this house._  

A muffled bark sounds from behind the closed door.

_Miss that dog._

A cheerful voice follows closely after.

_Miss them._

Peter exhales, and his hesitation evaporates with his breath into the June air.  Grabbing the metal knocker, he wraps lightly on the wood.  Soon as it opens, his tense shoulders relax, and once frozen nerves thaw into a veritable puddle onto the sweltering concrete.  

“ _Peter!”_   

The little girl leaps into his arms and a laugh comes from deep in his chest as he struggles to hold her up.  She feels so much heavier in his arms than before, and his heart constricts, but in a pleasant sort of way.

“You’re so grown up!”  Peter welcomes her, holding her torso close as he steps comfortably inside of the split-level home.  

A woman’s voice calls from upstairs, scolding the dog for barking, “Tessa, no!  MJ? Who just came in?”

“Intruder!”  Peter gravels in a warped voice, turning around to greet the sweet creature wiggling excitedly by his feet.

“My Tess! Hi Tess,” he coos down to her.   

The woman pads her way downstairs, crumpling to the floor when she catches view of Peter standing at the threshold.  

“Peter’s back!”  The seven-year-old announces, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, don’t cry Aunt May---don’t cry,” Peter breaks free from the dog’s exuberant licks to reach out and embrace her.

_Yes._

_Home sounds far sweeter now._

.

“Careful with that knife!  Just because you’re all mature and experienced now doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply to you…”  May cautions, her eyes revealing the poorly hidden grin that gives her away.

Peter (lightheartedly) ignores the instruction, laughing as gleefully as his younger cousin.

He scoops peanut butter haphazardly onto sections of apple that MJ holds up, with the same knife he’d used to cut it.  

Tessa happily accepts any abandoned slices in the snack-making process.  

“Who knows you’re back?”  

“You guys. And Tessa,”  Peter leans down to give the dog’s muzzle a peck before he reaching towards the counter for his bag, “and the cashier who rang me up,”  he pulls out an assortment of handmade candy, bought from a store their family used to patron on weekend outings to the city. Peter used to work there once upon a time, of which he was reminded when he ran into his old boss this morning.

MJ gasped with excitement, sensing the mood in the room despite being too young to fully appreciate the treat’s nostalgic qualities.  

May shakes her head, deep brown hair tinged with gray Peter isn't used to seeing.  

 _It feels like time goes in slow motion you’re away from someone,_ Peter decides, taking a good look at his family members, _then speeds up twice as fast once you've found them again..._

“You sneak,” May pokes his side and grabs back the soiled peanut butter container Tessa got herself into.  

“My boy,”  his Beta aunt whispers affectionately, placing a firm peck to his grinning cheek.  

Sunlight streams through the windows inside of the tight, yet cozy kitchen space.

“What are your plans?” May skips onto the next topic before she succumbs to tears for the second time that day.  Peter sits on the kitchen bar stool behind him, unpacking a carefully wrapped chocolate for MJ while holding it high out of Tessa’s reach.

“No plans yet.”  

Something about being here calms Peter’s Omega.  The smells in the house, even the feel of MJ’s hair as he cards through it.  The giggles that reach his ears once he reaches down to tickle her, only letting up once she chokes on chocolate and her own spittle. Even the taste this variety of sweets carry: familiar, gratifying.  Here is where he wants to be right now. “And you?” he glances up, “ What have you been up to today?”

“Not a whole lot...”  her voice wavers a bit, finger on her own lip.  Peter imagines May scrolling through an ever changing mental list, the one sure to be floating around her free-spirited mind.  “Did some errands earlier… pancakes… made pancakes. I mean. Oh!” She points to the countertop as if it holds the answer she’s looking for, “I need to go to Stan & Co. before the end of the day.”

Peter swallows down the wrong tube.  

MJ pats her brother’s back as he coughs, unleashing a playful giggle and viewing this as her brother’s comeuppance for those unrelenting tickle attacks.

“Oh.  You want to come along, Pete?”  May raises her eyebrows with an impish, admittedly opportunistic grin,  “See Wade?”

Peter’s face turns a fierce new shade once he regains his breath.  “I’ll pass this time,” he answers with feigned disinterest, lugging his seven-year-old cousin onto the lap she’s clearly outgrown, but reveals in, nonetheless.

May seems to let it go, however, Peter reaches back out with now blatant curiosity, “...what are you doing over there?”

She holds up a short stack of mail from the counter in response.  Peter thumbs through it, reading off each recipient's name,

 _Slade Wilson, Hailey Wilson, Slade Wilson, Slade Wilson_.

“The post office hasn’t taken the hint yet, huh?”  

She shakes her head, taking them back, “No, not exactly.  It's me---I mean, I haven’t put in the notice,” she admits, slipping the envelopes out of sight into a manila folder.  Peter listens with a nod of understanding, and May sighs with conviction, “I’m fine with doing this. It’s such a small thing.  And I know that it’s hard for Wade.”

Peter thinks back to when they first began receiving the Wilson’s mail.  While quite time has passed, it’s not hard to recall the days their families lived together in this house.

Despite not being independently wealthy themselves, Ben and May didn't hesitated when they learned Hailey’s family was struggling after Slade’s business filed for bankruptcy.  His Aunt and Ms. Wilson were old college friends, no closer than two past roommates catching up over coffee and conversation. Still, the couples temperaments proved to be a greater match than they anticipated, and the short-term arrangement naturally grew into something more.  

The memories pour through Peter’s mind as he considers the names he hasn’t thought of seriously in years...

Aside from for their son’s.  Wade was definitely something else.  

A true-born instigator from the beginning, he was especially brazen once he reached his teens.  As fate would have it, this was about the age he was when the Wilson’s moved in. And yes, Wade was something.

Outgoing and cunning in nature, Wade got himself in (and out of) trouble with the ease of a well-traveled fox.  Not fully realizing how much strength he possessed, this often inflicted disciplinary measures from the adults around him in an attempt to keep him 'in line.'  He-- _“to the surprise of no one,”_ his mother would jest if you asked her--presented as an Alpha at the age of thirteen.  

The two of them close, Peter’s own presentation made a sure impact on Wade, as well.   May recalled the day Peter presented with special fondness. In part, because they got to witness the boys relationship grow from childhood closeness to a far deeper place in the following years, even once the Wilson’s moved out on their own again.    

Wade’s showering of affection and sweet talking towards Peter was almost as fun for the adults to watch as they were for his subject to experience.  His fierce displays of protection against the perils of a bully, or ‘proactive help’ for the omega to face his fear of water deeper than four feet.

_“I---I won’t.  Don’t want to---can’t,"  Peter promised._

_The nearly six-foot teen had assured him, "I have you little one,” and his hold on the omega indeed tightened as he walked deeper into the lake, one step at a time._

Wade’s soft spot was a well kept secret that Peter happened upon, for certain.  And it make sense; Peter’s calm disposition and cheerful outlook on life proved to work like a soothing balm over the young Alpha's seemingly uncontrollable, at moments even troubled energy.  Then, Wade’s confidence settled any of the Omega's anxieties, in return.

Still, with these come more painful memories as well.  Names Peter preferred to keep largely out of his mind.

He remembered the day Hailey passed from cancer.  It was challenging for any of them to cope with the loss.  The Wilson's had moved out and into their own place by then, but their family remained frequent visitors.  So frequent in fact, that they never bothered to get the address formally changed through the post office. That, and the fact that mail was commonly stolen in the neighborhood they moved into, meant the Parkers were fine to continue receiving it.  Even after Slade disappeared.

It happened shortly after his wife’s death.  The man up and left town, abandoning Wade. Even from the Parker’s who arguably knew him best, they say no one could have predicted it.  And for Wade, who was just entering his twenties, these events triggered manic behaviors. He latched onto pyromania when some more challenging and painful episodes arose within him.  As fate would have it, the alpha had volunteered as a firefighter with his father prior to his mother falling ill, and suffered severe burns due to a mishap with his suit. Back then, it seemed Wade was destined to extremes.

When he got linked to the ruins of an abandoned public building, he served a year before getting out by reason of insanity.  The Parker's had vehemently testified on his behalf. Jurors appeared to sympathize with his life story, as reluctant as Wade was to allow anyone outside of their inner circle to hear it painted in such a way.  Later, the Alpha adopted a far more successful outlet for his pain: enlisting in the military. After some time, a bullet got logged into his back and he got released on honorable discharge.

Peter hadn’t been to see Wade since leaving out of state.  Still, Peter checked-in on him through May and mutual friends all the while.  Last thing he heard, Wade took up welding and apparently had a real knack for it, as he opened up “Stan & Co.” with a few other top welders and blacksmiths last year.

Peter holds his palm out for the manila folder.  

May reluctantly hands it back, joking, “You sure you want to open these?  Federal offense, you know.”

“I’ll take them over,”  Peter tells her.

His aunt’s smile is soft this time as she says,  “...I think he’ll really like to see you.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see…”  Peter offers.

He feels a desire to secure backup, looking down at MJ,  “you wanna join me, Em? Go see Wade?”

MJ nods with greater enthusiasm than candy could elicit.  

“Not this time, I’m sorry,”  May apologizes to her daughters pouting face, “you’ve got guitar lessons in an hour.  But, you can ask Peter if he’ll deliver your drawing for you.”

“Yeah...”  His mind trails off as MJ pushes off of his lap.  

Then his teeth pull at his lower lip in thought, _I’d like to see him._

Soon, Peter feels a folded piece of drawing paper being pushed into his idle hand.  “Here, this for Wade. Say I’ll come next time, and tell him I miss him!”

“Sure,” he promises, laughing a little at her cuteness.

_What are you up to now, Tiger?_

.

The Stan & Co. building is open air this time of year.  

Its large, industrial grade sliding doors stay open so that workers are visible from the outside on each end of the complex.  Being that the companies work consists mostly of behind the scenes manufacturing and repairs, there isn’t much of a front desk to welcome its visitors.

“Hey,”  one of the few workers without their welders mask on comes up to greet him,  “You got mail?”

Peter nods in affirmation, “Yes,” looking down at the folder he carries and then back up at the man.

The employee stares expectantly.

“Oh--yes," his hand forgets to hold onto it for a second, and he quickly regains his grip before it falls to the gravel, "it’s kind of a personal package.  Is Wade Wilson here?”

The man hums a noise of understanding, motioning for Peter to join him.

The building has a sizable operation going: lots of projects moving together at once, welders, smiths, and other workers running the floor.  The employees seem more than civil, even tight-knit judging by the way they each send a nod or verbal greeting to the man escorting Peter as they pass by.  

They slow down at one station where a woman is measuring a section of pipe line with steady precision.  

“Hey Eve, you know if Wilson’s still here?”  

The worker squints her eyes thoughtfully, “Hmm, should be...  Saw him receive a shipment a little while ago. He’s not back at his station?”

The man shakes his head, turning back to Peter like his job is done, “You want me to hold onto it for him?”

Peter stares blankly for a moment, still taking everything in.  

A part of him admits to feeling relieved; his body relaxes knowing that this gut twisting anticipation has to be post-phoned.  

Peter shakes his head then, gripping the folder tightly against his abdomen.  

“I really appreciate you asking,”  He assures the man, “though, I still believe I should deliver it myself.  When’s the next time he’ll be-”

“Oh, here he is,”  the man interrupts him, resuming their walk to the far end of the floor.  

Peter takes a few quick steps to catch up, dodging some workers carrying a piece of machinery across their path.  

When they reach what must be Wade’s station, they find a man in his welder’s mask, working his way through a sizable piece of metal.  He notices Peter’s guide and turns off the machine, acknowledging him immediately.

“Hey man, you got some mail,"  his guide gestures towards the Omega on his tail.  

The mask turns to Peter.  

No greeting comes.  

“Hi, Wade,”  Peter begins, eyebrows lifting slightly, lips closing into a small smile.   

The mask only responds by cocking down towards Peter’s stomach.

“Um…” and Peter's mind goes blank for a full second, “Oh!”  he holds up the folder now, “Yes, this is for you.” The Omega peaks over for help, only to see that his guide has disappeared from his side, leaving him alone with the masked man.   _That’s Wade_ , he reminds himself,  _it's just Wade._

And indeed, he can see Wade’s scarred skin peeking out from his uniform, his sleeves rolled up on his elbows.  Peter forgot how massive Wade is, but his memory returns to him quickly when the man stands up and reaches forward.  

Wade takes the file by the edge without touching Peter’s fingers.

Peter glances around patiently while the Alpha inspects it’s contents.

Not a moment of hesitation goes by before Wade grabs a torch, lighting up the envelopes with one squeeze of it’s handle.

Peter’s mouth falls open.  

Wade kicks a black disposal bin out from under the workbench, dropping the ashes and what’s left of the paper before the flame reaches his hand.  

All without removing his mask, or addressing Peter’s shocked expression, he revs up the machine and resumes his work.  

Tremors travel from the ground near the workbench up through Peter’s calves due to the power of the cutter.

Peter stares at the bin in disbelief.  Then back at the man.

“Wade?”  He tries, but the noise easily drowns it out.  

A minute passes, studying the man carving into metal with a firm hand.

The Omega waves his hand at Wade.  

No response.

He reaches into his jean pocket and holds up MJ’s drawing.

 _“Whizzzz,”_ the machine powers back down.  

The alpha snatches the paper in a similar fashion.

He does seem to look over it for a moment before securing it neatly onto a board behind him.  

Peter notes from what he sees, that MJ is a frequent contributor to Wade’s work space.  Today’s drawing hangs as one of many elementary doodles decorating this part of Stan & Co.  The rainbow colours and creatively etched designs stand out among the black and white paperwork tacked onto the rest of the panel.  

The metal sheet is ear-piercing as it slides across the table.  The Alpha pulls this section forth like one would a piece of plastic, despite how heavy the metal must weigh realistically.  

“...Wade?”

_Why is he ignoring me?_

 

The alpha takes a wide drill to the edge of the sheet’s narrowest end, creating holes inch by inch.

 

“Wade... you’re scaring me.”  

 

The Alpha pauses.  

 

He returns the drill to his workbench.  

 

Peter stares boldly at the mask.  

 

The mask stares back.

 

 _What has you so tense?_ Peter feels practical _currents_ of tightly wound energy rolling off Wade.

 

 _Something’s different in you._  

 

 _You’re so..._   _controlled._

 

Wade steps in front of him suddenly, reaching over his head and effectively deterring a piece of lumber from hitting Peter as a cart pushed by busy workers zooms past them.

 

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but Wade turns his back to go behind his bench again.

 

The Omega’s brow furrows helplessly, and his eyes break away in favor of the speckled gray linoleum floor beneath them. _You can swallow me up any minute now…_ He grants it his permission.

 

Peter breathes out.

 

He reaches a hand into his canvas bag, fishing around for a few seconds before grasping onto what he’s looking for.  

 

Wade is attending to the sheet again, fingers griping it this way and that in order to study details which would surely be lost on an untrained eye.  This time as he works, he stays away from the tools he used just moments ago.

 

“Here...”  

 

A carefully wrapped candy is placed on the workbench.

 

The welder’s mask doesn't move.  

 

Peter gives a final wave, and walks back out the way he came.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Foresight

It didn’t take long for his aunt to sniff it out.

 

“He did what?!”  

 

Peter did his best to open a jammed pickle jar. “Yeah… didn’t say a word to me,”  he recounts.

 

“What the f-” May peeks her head into the other room to see MJ at play with her friend, then mouths to Peter, _what the fuck?_ instead.  

 

The omega laughs good-naturedly,  “I take it he doesn’t greet you guys with a blow torch, then?”  

 

May denies, shaking her head like the question offends her.

 

She grabs the jar from Peter, taking out her rage on its lid which screws off almost immediately, “You’re sure it was Wade?  Well, how dare he. I practically co-raised him,” May curses under her breath, no longer minding the children now entering the kitchen.  “I should go over there.”

 

Now it’s Peter who shakes his head, “Please, don’t.  He either wants to see me or he doesn't. I think he he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t.”  

 

If an army were ever assembled to right Wade’s perceived wrongs, May would surely step up.  She’s one of few who isn’t intimidated by the idea of getting into it with a six-foot-two ex-marine.  But it wasn’t Peter’s goal to get anyone riled up. He only told his uncle Ben what happened the other day when the Beta got home from work.  May only got the news after she overheard Peter crying downstairs.

 

_“It was like,” Peter hiccuped, clinging to Ben’s reassuring embrace he’d missed so much, “he… didn’t even recognize me.  He wasn’t happy to see me.”_

 

Ben kept it all in confidence. Still, his wife couldn’t resist bringing it up, conspiring to wage war over her nephew’s hurt feelings.  

 

But Peter isn’t recruiting an army.  

 

And he doesn’t need defending.  Especially from Wade.

 

“How rude,” May scoffs, “that sounds like the old Wade to me.  The one who barks and lashes out.”

 

“He hardly _barked_ ”  Peter adds offhandedly.   

 

He _is_ different,  that Alpha. Wade seems to have gained a fair amount of self control these days.  

 

“If he has anything he wants to work out...” he pauses, giving a considerate look to the air… “he can let me know.”

 

But then, Peter is different too.  

 

He chews on his lower lip in thought, “I’m gonna... try not to dwell on it.”

 

“You’re being very reasonable about this,” May says, as if his calm only adds fuel to her fire.

 

It reminds Peter of the heated matches between his aunt and Wade back in the day…   

 

Wade crossed a few lines with the Beta early on, and May made certain each occasion would become a day to remember.  She didn’t much care for his lack of self-reflection, and disregard for other people's boundaries. But, he was as charming and smooth as he was manipulative and infuriating.  From Peter’s perspective, May’s selfless nature found his self-serving mindset hard to relate to.

 

That said, a key feature of his aunt (which she isn’t as quick to admit) is: true to her Beta nature, she can play either card.  She’s a fighter _and_ a nurturer, and Wade came on the scene with the strongest case of “lost puppy” someone with a mild savior complex could ask for.    

 

Hailey---Wade’s actual mother---was far more passive, and Wade didn’t hesitate to take full advantage of that; getting past her to achieve his own agenda was an easy game.  Contrastly, Slade was the authoritative hammer in his parenting role, going from words to brute force when he deemed it necessary.

 

_“You need to understand this,” Slade said, gripping the back of the boy’s neck on his soft spot..._

 

Peter remembered when Wade found Peter’s soft spot.  It’s not challenging to locate, but takes some technique for younger ones to control their grip on it.

 

It wasn’t unheard of for Wade to nibble on Peter’s soft spot, but the omega recalled first time the other used his canine’s to _pull_ the sensitive skin.  

 

_Peter had yelped, dropping to the ground like a sack of stones.  The Alpha’s arms had caught him to keep him upright._

 

_Their noses were instantly filled with the burst of pheromones Wade’s firm tug drew out of the Omega._

 

_“Boys?”  May called from the house, “What was that?”_

 

_Peter straightened up as much as he could, head spinning and body loose from his release. His hand rubbing lightly over his own neck, knees shifting to give his clammy thighs some relief. “It was my fault.”_

 

_“It was not,” Wade corrected.  His palm smoothing over the rosy spot he’d made on the omega, thankful the Beta’s nose wasn’t strong, “May, it won’t happen again.”_

 

Peter’s heart picks up in recollection, his stomach tightening with a cocktail of embarrassment and excitement all at once.  

 

May grunts, resigning herself to the kitchen counter behind her, “You’re capable. I know.  I’m here if you need me.”

 

Peter just nods, turning his attention over to the girls, who give him a character to be in the imaginary game they’re far away in.  

 

But soon as he catches May’s eye again, he mouths back. _Thank you._

 

.  

 

In July, Ben places a new piece of mail on their ledge.

 

It’s separated from the usual stack, indicative of its upcoming destination.   

 

Peter feels a pull towards it.  

 

Ben, taking notice, smiles in a knowing sort of way. “You gonna do it, Pete?”  

 

The Omega grips the paper plate he’s holding a bit tighter.  He doesn’t notice how tightly, until a half-eaten slice of watermelon slips right off.  “Ah!” without thinking, he tries to catch it with his foot, leading to his bare skin meeting with it’s cold, mealy textured end.  

 

“After you clean that up,” Ben laughs, “You can hand this to him outside.”  

 

Peter half smiles, only to blanch a second later, _“Outside_ , outside?” he looks to where his uncle gestured.  Sure enough, there’s Wade, stepping out of his car, and the smell of him hits Peter more once he steps out and onto the warm grass of their front yard.  

 

The Alpha easily catches Peter’s younger cousins as they crash into his arms in greeting.  Peter watches from the safety of the house.

 

Once MJ reaches him, Wade kneels down, setting two others down so that he can embrace her, and he smooths the wet hair away from her cheeks, speaking to her closely.

 

Peter feels someone touching his arm, and visibly jumps.  

 

“Hey, just me,”  Ben is closer now, gripping his shoulder,  “it’s okay. You do what you feel is right.”  

 

His uncle knows him better than most.  This understanding is just one reason Peter’s Omega is more apt to take Ben’s help or advice over his aunts.  

 

A few people shuffle inside to find the bathroom, and Ben’s voice gets softer, “You are _far_ stronger than you’re giving yourself credit for,” he smiles softly.  

 

Peter swallows hard, bending to pick up the abandoned fruit.  Ben gestures for him to leave it.

 

.

 

Catching up with his talkative friends and family as they arrive is enough to keep Peter occupied while Wade is on the opposite end of the gathering.  He hears kids who know Wade eagerly competing for his attention; he sees those who don’t stealing glances from a safe distance.

 

The Alpha’s presence has always gotten mixed reactions, but especially so after the accident.  In most cases, children were more accepting than adults. Peter thought Wade appreciated the frankness of children.   _“What’s wrong with your skin?”_ was a question he could get out of the way far more easily that way.  Even without, Wade’s always been so comfortable in social situations, he wouldn’t hesitate to either joke, or answer inquiries head on--whatever suited the situation best.  If someone was caught looking at his skin too long, he’d produce his own commentary on it for them. Peter always enjoyed watching them stutter after that, embarrassed by Wade’s unabashed forwardness.  

 

His scars are quite visible today; arms, face, and neck all on display outside of his t-shirt.  He hooks his hands under each child’s armpits, one by one as they line up, and launch them straight into the Parker’s rented blow-up pool.  The kids scream like banshees, as if he's doing so too hard, if not for giving themselves up immediately after, staggering back in line to ask for more.

 

Peter subconsciously scents the air as he half-listens to one of his second cousins many divorce woes, as she flamboyantly overshares with the Omega.  He manages to pull his attention back to her changing expressions---and he's grateful that she’s too enthralled in her own story to notice Peter’s pained expression as he easily catches Wade’s _loud_ scent even from a yard away.  

 

The group begins to sing Happy Birthday.  

 

Overwhelming himself with it, he inhales sharply, scanning the joyful faces littering the lawn from all sides,

 

_“Happy Birthday dear MJ, happy birthday to you~”_

 

Wade’s looking at him.

 

_Wade’s looking at me._

 

Peter’s head jerks to one side and, dropping his plate, he vomits onto the concrete.  

 

.

 

Peter never liked the taste of antacid pills, their sheer size and chalky residue inherently unpleasant.

 

Concerned guests checked in with him one by one, placating his fiery stomach with their soothing words.  It was more embarrassing for him than anything---he’d much rather no one had noticed. One guest brought a piece of the birthday cake in with them, and the look of sugary frosting combined with her strong perfume made his sensitive GI actually _invite_ a chance to hurl again.  

 

He hesitantly studies himself in the bathroom mirror, stained rose on his cheek bones;  his otherwise pale complexion exaggerated by his bodies evacuation of the party food he’d inhaled over the past few hours.   _Ugh._

 

“Are you trying to ruin MJ’s birthday, little one?”  

 

Peter flinches severely, his head meeting the side of the bathroom cupboard.  

 

Wade’s expression is fixed, but calm.  And he’s the last person the Omega is expecting to see.  Peter quickly kneels down on the tile before the toilet, just as a precaution.  

 

He doesn’t meet Wade’s eyes, or know what to say for a full second when the Alpha takes a very subtle---but certainly intentional---step out of the doorway to leave more breathing space between them.  

 

“...always vying for some attention, aren’t you Pete?”  The words don’t feel cutting, just sarcastic. Boarding playful.  Contrastly, Peter scents a concealed vulnerability in them.

 

May’s scent joins them suddenly, and Peter feels the mood switch in an instant, effectively souring the air, “Excuse me,” she pushes past Wade ungracefully.

 

Wade doesn’t move, eyeing her back like it’s disrespected him.  

 

Peter takes the glass he’s presented with, chugging it with enthusiasm.

 

May accepts the emptied glass back from her nephew, turning to Wade with a smile practically dripping in insincerity, “I think someone needs you out there.”  

 

Wade cocks his head genuinely, not playing into her passive-aggressive approach, and he answers her literally, “Who?”  

 

May hands him the glass without missing a beat, “the dishwasher.”  

 

Wade moves into the bathroom, and Peter’s blood pressure skyrockets.  

 

May’s mouth opens, but closes again when Wade reaches over to fill the glass from the tap.  He sets it down gently on the countertop near Peter’s head, where it’s most comfortable for the Omega to grab.  

 

“If you want to be alone with the him, please say so,”  he replies, the confidence in his scent steady, and even more prominently, his direct eye-contact with May’s searing gaze is unwavering.  

 

“How _dare you-_ ”  May’s scent screams _anger, disgust, offense._

 

Peter grips the bowls edge, groaning into it and scrunching his eyes shut as he wills himself not to vomit for the third time this hour.

 

Both of their gazes snap towards him.  

 

Ben suddenly appears, holding onto Wade’s arm even though he’s already standing perfectly still.  The Alpha allows it. Peter silently thanks God. _You are different, Tiger_.  “May,” Peter’s uncle looks at his wife, “Please.”

 

May only looks down at Peter, “Do you want him in here?”  the 'he' she’s referencing self-evident.

 

Peter coughs up the water before he has a chance to decide, the angle of his head causing some of the liquid to block his airway as it trickles out through his nose, and the sound is miserable.  

 

Something passes through Wade, and Peter _feels it_ like an electric current; _wild_.

 

“I’ll leave,” the Alpha concedes.  

 

“ _What is it?_ ”  Peter rasps without lifting his head from the toilet rim, but they all hear it.

 

“What?”  May leans in closer, confusion and concern growing more rapidly than her frustration.  

 

“What is it, _Wade_?”  Peter repeats, reaching up for towels hanging above the toilet to wipe his mouth with.  

 

When the Omega lifts his face, they notice new tears on his cheeks.  The rawness in his voice from all the damage this stomach acid is inflicting on his esophagus only makes his words come out worse.  

 

“Oh Pete,”  Ben, gestures for all of them to leave.  The noise of the party outside grows louder as the door opens again.  

 

When Wade walks out, Peter _feels it_.  

 

He turns his head, and pukes again.  

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Hope you enjoy reading this. 
> 
> -SE


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